The Anscestor in our first week of residing in her attic has so far informed me that we have too many types of milk and could we please get rid of some of it, made the restorer people check the electrics of the fridge freezer a comrade has lent us (thinking it was our fridge freezer from the flood), asked me where all the toliet paper had gone – surelly you cannot have used a whole roll already?!

With a potty training two year old and me and the King surfering from her version of cooking where if its its not moving its fine to eat – YES WE CAN!

I am afriad dear mortals that I have already got up and just walked out of the room rather than face her hypocrasy in its crasses form. I could not bear to hear her lecture us and tell us to sell our wedding presants when the domicile is full of her furniture and all the things she thought we should have – beaten up and battered old cracked and half the time useless and ugly things – why should I throw away my stuff exactly?

To say things are stressful is an understatement and one that is resulting in breathing problems and palpatations unfortunately. I need to get through this but am not sure how I am going to manage it.

After having fled our flood damaged domicile to be as Refugees – sleeping on friends floors, we are to return. We are infact to live in The Ancestors attic and I am dreading it. For a start she has already had a go about me not having done any gardening even though I was in a different part of the country, secondly she seems to think we’ll only be there for a fortnight or so where as having our house back this side of the Yule time festivities looks highly unlikely.

I have been in houses with hot and cold running water, water that is safe to drink and no one telling me everything I do is wronge all the time and guess what? I’ve been able to do more stuff, my muscels do not hurt as much becuase the building isn’t cold and damp and sucking everything out of me. I have been surrounded by friends and have had help when I needed it. I feel I am about to be concined once more to a lower level of a Lovecraftian hell and I feel the panic and dispair rising in my throat.

People would look at the domicile and think I am being an ungreatful wench and I probably am but I can’t cope with it. I can’t cope with the fact that it hurts me physically just to go and do the luandary and that everytime I step outside the door I am being giving tasks that are simply to physically demanding but becuase I currently look ok I’m just being lazy.

An angry resentment is flaring inside me and I shouted at the King which he didn’t deserve. I don’t want to go back but I don’t really have any choice :'(